Verbs

This is a revision of a poem I wrote (see blog post further down) after two of my 7th grade students committed suicide. It was my first year of teaching and it was horrible. It was my first foray with depression and writing, as usual, helped me process deep emotion. I've been wanting to come back to this one for a while, it's finally time. Most of my poetry is meant to be read, this one is meant to be performed.

Verbs

I am an English teacher, 
a lover of words, books,
freshly-sharpened pencils 
and verbs.
I've taught my 7th graders
about nouns, 
of complex sentences,
prepositions,
adverbial phrases.
But they 
are all about 
verbs--
laughing, 
dancing, 
being.

The silence of a still Sabbath
shattered as my
principal's voice softly
spoke the news:
a student had died.

Suicide.

A noun?
No, it's a verb-- 
an act of pain, lingering pain,
grasping
to so many,
tearing hearts, 
leaving gaping holes
of emptiness in it's path.

Standing in front of my students, 
another verb forming in my mouth,
"Live," I whispered, 
"Please live."
Live 
for first love, 
for stolen kisses, 
for graduation, 
for purpose, 
for sand in your shoes,
for sunshine on your face 
after winter, for joy
you'll have as an adult that you 
cannot
comprehend now, 
live to hold your child, 
live to get that first paycheck, 
live to look
beyond yourself.
Live for your parents, your friends--
for me?
please 
live.

Faces of my students swimming 
in front of me
as warmth from my tears 
melted my smile.
My arms aching from holding
13-year olds, bent and shaking from
weight they are not meant to carry, as
I repeated again and again, as if I 
could solidify my words in their hearts:
 You matter to me. 
 We'll get through this together. 
 It's ok to cry. 
 You are not alone. 

Filling their emptiness
with my 
words knowing 
the only 
verb that can 
heal is 
Love.